


Because I Loved You

by i_am_greg_lestrade



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Maybe - Freeform, To Be Continued, Vampire AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:59:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2192709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_greg_lestrade/pseuds/i_am_greg_lestrade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After four years of leading Greg on, Mycroft decides that tonight is the night to sever that bond.</p><p>But, something happens that he had never predicted... he may be in love with the human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because I Loved You

"Y-you’re a monster!" Greg cried, scrabbling away from Mycroft, clutching his neck.

Mycroft softly laughed, wiping his mouth with his maroon pocket handkerchief. His icy blue eyes appeared to shine in the dim light of the Strangers’ room’s dying fire in the fireplace, the dancing flames causing the blue to spark. “A word I haven’t heard in quite a long time,  _monster_.” Though, he didn’t usually leave his dinner alive long enough to comment on his morality. 

Mycroft still was unsure of the reasoning behind Greg’s prolonged existence in this life. It wasn’t that the man was strong enough to get away. He didn’t fight at all. They never do. A bite numbs all pain or discomfort that should befall the morsel during the feeding. Some like to break the bones and have the taste of fresh bone marrow in the blood, like adding spices to a soup. Mycroft was more civil. Just a thorough draining usually sufficed. Not tonight, though.

Tonight… tonight he wanted to play with his food. He took a simple step forward, hoping to illicit a squeak or a small scream. He loved the noisy ones.

But, Greg just stared at him, eyes wide and heart pounding loudly. Mycroft’s keen ears heard the blood pumping, coursing, running deliciously through the man’s veins, the sound of it so alluring. Greg had gotten to standing, the blood leaking from the pinpricks in his neck. The smell of it made Mycroft’s stomach grumble. This would be his first proper meal in months. He disliked killing so he often frequented blood banks (not himself, of course. He had people with excuses to pilfer the needed blood for him) for a top up. Once every few months, though, he needed the taste of hot, fresh hemoglobin to sate his vampiric instincts. This month, he felt that his pet for the past few years would suffice; Gregory Lestrade.

Mycroft had this one so completely enthralled. He let the man believe that Mycroft had loved him. Thousands of years of practice made for sublime acting. This one would be missed, but Mycroft could handle the minor repercussions. Sherlock would immediately know, of course, but that wasn’t a problem. Greg doesn’t mean enough to the younger brother to warrant many repercussions, though he was concerned about that “Watson” Sherlock had taken to. He had warned Sherlock that he shouldn’t grow to attached to the fragile and breakable humans. It would only end in heartbreak.

On top of it, Mycroft supposed the man’s daughter and son may not be too happy, but Mycroft didn’t care about the emotions of humans. He was above them, a god.

A very hungry god.

The man recoiled as Mycroft closed the distance between them, his fangs visible behind his slightly parted lips. The lips that Greg had learned lit fire wherever they landed, the lips that he had felt against his many times and wanted one last time.

“Myc,” Greg gasped, just as Mycroft’s teeth were a mere centimeter from piercing the soft flesh at the side of his neck. He felt Mycroft’s nose brush his cheek.

Mycroft leaned up to peer into Greg’s eyes. “Yes?” He was growing impatient, but he held a certain soft spot in his long-stilled heart for the DI, so he could wait. He just assumed the man would beg for his life and Mycroft oh so very much liked being in command of that thin thread between life and death.

But the DI surprised him. “Kiss me one last time.” His eyes pleaded and a sad smile dressed his lips. “Just one more time, Myc, please.”

Mycroft cocked his head. A final request. Sighing, he nodded. “Very well, Gregory.” He leaned close and brushed his lips with Greg’s. Greg gripped his lapels and pulled him closer, their mouths coming together for Greg’s final kiss. He felt the electricity in Greg’s touch and remembered why he kept him around for as long as he did. Mycroft tilted his head, opening his mouth to allow Greg’s tongue to slide against his.

Suddenly, Mycroft broke contact and dove to Greg’s neck. His mouth found the artery instantly. He drew the first mouthful and felt Greg’s hands tighten on his lapels. The ecstasy of Mycroft’s bite caused his body to shudder and quake as Mycroft slowly drained him of his blood. With his last conscious breath, Greg gasped a final, “I love you,” before his eyes closed and his hands loosened, letting go of Mycroft’s jacket.

Mycroft froze. Something about the man struggling for breath and still using one of his last to say that struck a chord in Mycroft’s mind. Even though he knew he was going to die at the hands of his lover, Greg still loved him.

Mycroft then made a decision, but he would have to work quickly.

He laid Greg down on the floor, his heartbeat feeble and stuttering. He had sealed the neck wound with his saliva, so Greg wouldn’t bleed out. Mycroft hustled over to his desk and popped the secret shelf out. Transfusion bags and tubes were inside. He pulled a small set out and a pump to pull the blood from his own veins into Greg’s.

Mycroft was going to turn Greg into a vampire.

He’d eaten his fill, but there was just something about this particular human… He went and knelt beside the chilled man. Mycroft stuck his own wrist with the needle, set the pump up to pull the crimson liquid into the large bag, and let it run. His blood was bright red and very fluid, so it flowed quickly into the bag.

While it filled, he thought about having to help Greg through the change. He had done it once before, with Sherlock, though that was many, many years ago. He hadn’t wanted to change the boy but, after Sherlock had overdosed on heroin, Mycroft couldn’t bear to see the young genius die. So he figured out a way to do it without a mess. The only other way was for Mycroft to slit his wrist and drip it into the recipient’s mouth, hoping that he would’ve been able to drink it. It had a chance of failure too great for Mycroft’s tastes. So he took this method.

After Sherlock awoke, he completely understood what had happened to him, but his memories were jumbled; he believed Mycroft to be his brother. Mycroft just went with the boy’s thoughts, letting him believe. He didn’t see any harm in it and it gave him an excuse to be around to check in on the young fledgling.

The pump shut off, signaling that the bag was full. Mycroft swiftly slid the needle from his own vein and inserted it in Greg’s. He reversed the pump’s flow and waited. The first signs of colour returned to Greg’s cheeks and his breathing normalised, just before the new blood started to burn him through. His eyes flew open and he arched off of the floor, the pain of the change coursing through every vein and every artery with each pump of his dying heart. Mycroft put an arm across the struggling man, holding him firmly in place.

Greg opened his mouth and gasped his last human breath as his heart stilled and his blood stopped pumping. His brain went into overdrive, his thoughts wild, yet clear. His eyes finally focused on Mycroft as the last drops of the vampiric blood drained from the bag. “Myc…?”

“Hmm?” Mycroft took the needle and the bag, bundled it together, and tossed it in the fire. The blood sizzled and popped and the smell of melting plastic filled the room, but neither man minded.

Greg shuddered as he rose. Everything was different. He could smell the type of wood burning two rooms over. He saw a dust mote float past the dark window, seeing it as if viewing it under a microscope. Every detail and every sound and every smell, he could sense it all. The high of the change lit his senses up like electricity.

He wondered if touch would be this vibrant. His newly enhanced eyes shifted to the tall man across the room. Greg walked to him, feeling the vibrations of cars rolling down the street through his shoe-clad feet, the sensation sending shivers all the way to his teeth. After lightly brushing his fingers down Mycroft’s cheek, Greg moved his hand upwards to the man’s hair. His fingers felt every hair and every wave, his unneeded breath quickening.

As he leaned forward, the scent that just  _was_  Mycroft intensified tenfold. What just simply smelled of tea before now held the life of the leaf, right down to the weather it had grown in. The light notes of pine wood and leather on the tall man's skin pulled Greg closer, the tip of his nose brushing Mycroft’s freshly coloured cheeks, coloured with Greg’s own blood. The soft touch on their skin and the new warmth that came from a fresh feed just worked together and lit both of their nerves on fire.

Greg crashed his mouth into Mycroft’s jawline, his tongue instantly pressing to the taller man’s neck. Hands came up and gripped the hair on the back Greg’s head, holding his face there as Mycroft’s body shivered with the sensation. He inhaled sharply as Greg's lips sent shivers from where they touched to places he dare not mention.

Then, Mycroft felt a small, sharp pain on his neck. Greg stopped and backed away quickly, eyes flying wide. “Wha-”

“You are fine, Gregory.” Mycroft licked the tip of his finger and pressed it to the small spot. “You are bound to hungry. I only supplied a pint and you were nearly out yourself.”

Greg hadn’t even thought about that aspect of his new immortality. The thought of drinking blood both sickened him and caused his stomach to burn with hunger. He felt something sharp poke his lip and realised that even the mere thought of it caused a reaction.

Mycroft noticed too. “It’s natural.” He stepped back to Greg, running his hand gently down the shorter man’s arm. He never thought he’d care for anyone like this, but Greg had captured his attention a few years ago, when he had started asking for Sherlock’s help on cases.

Mycroft had planned severing his bond with him tonight… but… he let his heart take over and saved him instead.

There may be consequences. Creating a new fledgling without the council’s direct consent was punishable by beheading and burning, but, considering his standings within the government of Old London and the council itself, he shouldn’t run into very many problems.

Besides, most of the older members had found a life mate by now and had even started to question Mycroft’s lack of one. He never responded to inquiries of that sort.

Love was trivial… or so he'd thought. He twined his fingers through Greg’s and brought it up to kiss the knuckles on Greg’s hand.

“What happened to me, Myc?” Greg’s question was evenly measured, careful. He didn’t quite understand. The last thing he remembered before everything exploded into high definition was Mycroft’s lips at his neck and whispering one last goodbye. Then, he woke up, feeling like his mind had been cleared out and his eyes and ears had been fine tuned. He felt amazing! More alive than ever, ironically. He noticed that his heart wasn’t beating and his lungs only filled as a reflex, that he didn’t even need it. “Am I like you?” His eyes flicked to Mycroft’s, a golden glow seeming to shine from within them.

Mycroft nodded cautiously, unable to gauge what Greg’s reaction would be. He noted the golden hue and found it odd. Normally, a fledgling’s eyes would change when they did, starting first as emerald green and then slowly shifting over hundreds of years into blues of varying shades, from the lightest sky to the deepest, nearly black navy. Sherlock’s had been hazel before he changed and now they were a very light minty green, but his were odd, as well. They always changed. One moment they were green-blue then the next they would be nearly grey. Mycroft made a mental note to look into that peculiar occurrence: the connection between his blood and the strange eyes of his fledglings.

Greg’s hand tensed in Mycroft’s, just slightly. “Does that mean I need to-”

“Drink blood, correct,” Mycroft supplied. “Don’t fret, my dear. You do not need it often and I have the means of getting it for you, if you so wish.” He went on to explain that he could drink from blood bags if he wanted.

Greg’s eyes flared angrily, and he stepped out of Mycroft’s embrace. “So, you’re telling me you could have done _that_ instead of-” He turned his back to Mycroft, running a hand through his silvery hair.

Mycroft’s tone was apologetic, yet cold. “I needed the taste of fresh blo-”

Greg raised his hand, signaling Mycroft to stop talking. He was in turmoil. _Why me?_ he thought, bitterly. The same thought repeated over and over until he broke. “WHY ME?!” he shouted, turning around and throwing his arms wide. His voice cracked with anger. “Did the last 4 years mean nothing? Was this always what you planned?!”

Mycroft’s glare went icy, a mask of placidity covering his annoyance and irritation. “I saved you, didn’t I?” He didn’t understand where this ungrateful attitude was coming from but it wasn’t pleasant. He _had_ changed his mind, hadn’t he? Why wasn’t Greg more thankful?

Greg returned the fierce look, his fiery and full of sad resentment. “You _hadn’t_ planned to.” Greg clenched his fists when Mycroft’s eyes flicked down and to the left. It was his tell, Greg’s way of knowing when Mycroft was about to lie or deceive. “You were going to kill me...”

Mycroft stared for a moment then lowered his eyes. “Yes.” He never could lie to him.

Greg’s shoulders drooped slightly. He really had hoped to be wrong, but… “Then why am I still here?”

“In all honesty,” Mycroft shoved his hands in his front trouser pockets, very unlike him. “I do not understand my own motives.”

Greg just stared. He didn’t understand why, if Mycroft were about to kill him right then, he would save him at the last moment.

Then, he remembered.

“‘I love you’,” Greg lifted his eyes to Mycroft, who had frozen in place at Greg’s words. “It’s because I said that I loved you, isn’t it?”

“No,” Mycroft blurted, turning away. He was troubled. Why _had_ he changed his mind? He’d had many mundane playthings, objects to toy with before he’d take their lives for his sustenance. Even his kind needed physical relationships for the desires and urges to be alleviated.

But he had kept Greg around much longer than any other. He had a charm to him that Mycroft had subconsciously been craving, an unnatural draw that caused Mycroft to hesitate every time he needed to feed, always looking for a new meal instead of using him.

Tonight, though, he’d felt that he had kept him around too long and wanted a clean break with Greg still _thinking_ that Mycroft loved him.

But… one problem that Mycroft hadn’t predicted. He _had_ fallen in love with Greg.

And, for Mycroft, admitting that to _himself_ was so hard. The hardest thing he had ever done.

Greg grew impatient with Mycroft’s internal deliberation. “Why, then?” his voice was barely below a shout, anger laced in every word. “Is this just another trick? Mycroft-”

“Because,” Mycroft interrupted. He let out a shaking sigh, unsure of how to word what h was about to say. “I think… I think that I am in love with you.”

Greg blinked in surprise. Mycroft had never actually outright said it in the four years then had been together. It was so unlike him to be like this, so open and honest. Greg had never once seen Mycroft cry, or show any emotion this strong before.

 “I never thought about it until you,” Mycroft admitted soberly, his head down and eyes staring into the fire. “For a man like me, in my position, caring isn’t an advantage. It is the downfall of many.” He took a breath and turned towards the man waiting behind him. “But, after you, I do not think I could have felt this way again.” His eye bored into Greg’s, sad and kind and loving.

“M-Myc…” Greg didn’t know what else to say. It was the kindest thing that he had ever heard escape the man’s lips. With tears welling in his eyes, Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft and their lips collided. A noise was startled from Mycroft that turned into a contented hum, his own eyes drifting closed as the feeling of Greg’s kiss washed over him, intensified by the recent feeding. They sunk to the floor, gripping each other for dear life, like it was the last kiss they would have.

“Oh God, I love you, Mycroft, I love you,” Greg murmured against Mycroft’s lips, his chest aching though nothing beat there anymore. His stomach churned but it wasn’t from the hunger, but instead from need and want. The need to stay like this forever, and wanting Mycroft’s lips against his and their bodies in sync.

They didn’t know what was going to happen. They both may die at the counsel’s orders or they would spend the rest of eternity together. Either way, they would be together for the rest of their lives. And, as they embraced, that was all they wanted.


End file.
